


Sunny Side Up

by chillsoya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Based on a Reddit Thread, Crack, Draco is very fussy about his eggs, Food, Food is talked about a lot, Love/Hate, M/M, They're literally so stupid, This whole fic is so stupid, Violence, Waffle House, not sponsored by waffle house lmaoooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chillsoya/pseuds/chillsoya
Summary: Draco loves going to Waffle House. Like, loves it. In general, it’s an enjoyable experience. His happy place, if you will.Until his favourite Waffle House decided to hire Harry James Potter.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood
Comments: 9
Kudos: 86





	Sunny Side Up

**Author's Note:**

> based on this:  
> https://rareddit.com/r/relationship_advice/comments/ghwn5l/my_29f_boyfriend_29m_keeps_getting_into_fights/  
> I was trying to think of a character petty enough to keep going back to Waffle House to get into fights, and Draco is the only one I could come up with.

Draco likes eggs. Like, he  _ really  _ likes eggs. And breakfast food, in general. You could call it his passion, and easily his favourite meal of the day, no matter what time of day he has it. Waffles, pancakes, sausages, bacon, toast, cereal, beans, croissants… No matter how they’re prepared, as long as they’re well cooked, he loves them. Apart from eggs. He’s fussy about his eggs.

As far as Draco is concerned, there are only a few correct ways to make eggs. Poached, as long as it’s runny, is good. Fried, as long as it’s runny, also good. Soft boiled? Amazing. Not that he would turn down scrambled egg or an omelette, but he wouldn’t choose them over his favourite kinds. So it’s no surprise that when he asks for eggs one way and then gets them another, he gets pissed.

As uppity Draco can be, he isn’t argumentative these days. He’s an adult, and tries to be mature. He certainly doesn’t engage in fistfights or anything so uncouth. But there are exceptions.

Exceptions like this one.

Standing in a Waffle House, brawling with the little shit of a cook who served him his fried eggs with hard yolk.

It started like this:

A restaurant that serves breakfast food as its main function is a good restaurant. Waffle House is a good chain, by proxy. Whenever Draco doesn’t feel like cooking, whenever he just feels like going out to eat, whenever he is out and about and gets hungry, he goes to Waffle House.

There’s a Waffle House just across the street from the store he gets his groceries. Buying groceries is tiring, so it’s nice to get some pancakes, or some bacon and eggs, or all three. He enjoys it. He eats a lot whenever he’s there, treating himself although he usually keeps a close eye on his diet. He figures it balances out.

Sometimes he goes with friends, like Pansy or Blaise or Theo. None of them share his enthusiasm for breakfast food but they indulge him anyway, sitting across the table from him watching the usually dignified Draco shovel food down his throat at an alarming rate. Generally they get their free refills of coffee and chat about their lives throughout and Draco hums and nods at the right places even though he’s mainly focused on his food.

In general, it’s an enjoyable experience. His happy place, if you will.

Until his favourite Waffle House decided to hire Harry James Potter.

Draco has never seen this man before, but he instantly dislikes him from the cocky tilt of his head and lopsided smile, the ridiculous round glasses, the way his hair sticks up in all directions. He dislikes the way he shouts ‘alright’ when the person at the till tells him the next order. Well, maybe he doesn’t immediately dislike him, since his first thought is,  _ hot damn _ , but still. It doesn’t take long for sheer malice to manifest.

After the ‘hot damn’, Draco orders his food, including eggs, which he specifies he wants runny, because he sees the new cook just to the side. The cook he usually sees knows his preferences by heart, so there’s never an issue. He feels like he’s being helpful, by being so specific. No room for error. And after all, the way someone likes their eggs is quite personal, surely.

Though apparently  _ some people  _ don’t have the same respect Draco does for eggs and people’s preferences, because he’s delivered a plate with fried eggs that, as soon as he pokes at the top, he can tell are hard.

It’s probably an honest mistake, and again, Draco doesn’t get into useless arguments that can be avoided, so he picks up his plate, kicking his grocery bags a little more under the table, and heads up to the counter. The cook, whose name tag reads ‘Harry’ in bad handwriting spelled out in black marker, is lounging around near the tills and perks up when he sees a returning plate.

“What’s up?” he asks, the picture of well mannered and respectable, if not casual, customer service. Draco smiles back, a little awkward. He feels daft to be bringing his plate back, but he  _ had  _ asked for them runny and these are just… not.

“Sorry to bother you. I asked for my eggs runny, but, as you can see, they’re hard. Would you redo them for me?”

His tone is not impolite, but firm. Draco does  _ not  _ fuck around when it comes to his eggs. The cook looks him up and down, a twinkle in his eye like he’s thinking something snide, lips slowly curling up into a fairly vacant smile.   
“Oh, of course.” His tone reeks of sarcasm. Draco sniffs, hands the plate over, and returns to this table. He’s sure it won’t be a problem.

Until he’s delivered a plate, by an airy looking staff member, that is heaped with certainly well made but absolutely not correct scrambled eggs. Draco stares at it. It feels like the eggs are staring back. The waitress returns to her post behind the till with a breezy ‘enjoy!’. Draco thinks her name is Luna. He wonders if this is some kind of joke - is she in on the joke, too? Is this even  _ meant  _ to be his order? 

He could let it slide, technically. He could submit to the will of a little bastard of a cook. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to waste his time arguing. But there’s no way he’s accepting this, because it’s the wrong order. It’s a matter of principle, to at least point it out. Don’t ask, don’t get, after all.

He returns to the till. Interestingly, the cook is standing there waiting, a slow kind of smile on his face like he knows exactly what’s wrong. Draco clears his throat, and holds out the plate.   
“Fried eggs. Runny,” he states bluntly, before forcing a smile that seems to physically pain him. Harry blinks and mocks surprise, mouth popping open as if he’s very shocked and embarrassed. “Please.”   
“Oh my. I’m  _ so  _ sorry. Two minutes.”

He returns to his seat. He’s already tetchy, and he fishes his phone out of his pocket and sends a message to Pansy, the first friend who appears to be online.

_ Can’t tell if this guy is fucking with me or not, but he’s given me the wrong eggs twice. Getting pissed _

Of course, she replies in her usual dismissive and blase way.   
_ He probably just doesn’t take eggs as seriously as you do. _

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t make him feel any better.

What  _ also  _ doesn’t make Draco feel any better, is when Luna - he checks her name tag this time - drifts back over with a smile and sets down his plate again. It’s an omelette, shaped in a semi circle. To add insult to injury, the chef’s gone ahead and drawn a smiley face on it in ketchup. Draco bristles, clenches his fists, and pokes at it. This surely isn’t an honest mistake.

He turns to look at the tills. The cook is standing there, chin propped up on his fist, eyebrows raised a little. Challenging him to complain again. Draco definitely intends to, when his phone rings and he picks up a call from Flint, his colleague.

“Draaaaaco, the spreadsheet isn’t working again and I can’t be arsed fixing it. Couldn’t you nip on to your laptop and sort it out? I’ll get you a beer after next shift if you do.”

Grunting, he scoops up his bags, slaps some money down on the table next to his uneaten omelette, and walks out. The cook watches him go, that irritating smile still plastered on his face.

\------------------------------------------------

The next week, Draco goes to buy groceries again. He’s hungry. He already decided that he’d go back to that Waffle House today, and he’s looking forward to it in a grim sort of way. He feels like he’s marching into battle when he pushes open the door, hears the bell ring above it to signal an entering customer, and pushes his bags under his customary table.

A glance to the left tells him that the cook he’s after is there. He thinks back to the money he wasted on the omelette he didn’t eat. The smiley drawn on that omelette was enough of an insult to make Draco want to come back and avenge his pride.

So here he is. A different person stands at the till, a ginger girl who has a mischievous look on her face as she watches Draco approach, like she’s in on the game. He has no business with her. It’s the cook he’s interested in. But not right away. First, he orders his food. Eggs, a little runny. He makes small talk with the girl, Ginny, while she puts it through. She eyes him with a wry smile and her hip cocked out, and he’s certain that she knows exactly what the cook did last week.

No matter. He sits down at his table, takes out his phone and opens his groupchat with his friends.

_ Back to the Waffle House. Same order. Gonna give the cook a piece of my mind if he gives me the wrong order again. _

**_Blaise:_ ** _ … Are you serious? Just go to a different waffle house if it bothers you that much. _

**_Theo:_ ** _ Agreed. _

**_Pansy:_ ** _ Maybe the cook is good looking? _

**_Blaise:_ ** _ Ohhhh, true. Is he? Is that why you’re going back? _ _   
_ **_Draco:_ ** _ Absolutely not. _ _   
_ **_Daphne:_ ** _ This is juicy. What’s his name? I’ll look him up. _

**_Draco:_ ** _ Just says Harry on his tag. How would I know? _

**_Daphne:_ ** _ Don’t underestimate my abilities… _

**_Theo:_ ** _ Scary. _

Footsteps. Draco locks his phone, puts it aside and looks up at the same ginger girl from the till, a widening smirk on her face, bringing him his plate. He already knows the eggs are wrong.

Poached. Hard. He didn’t even  _ ask  _ for poached. He waits until Ginny is back to her position, looks over at the cook who is leaning on his counter with a fake innocent smile, and grits his teeth. Go figure. It seems the cook doesn’t know how to behave. Standing and taking the plate up to the counter, he shakes his head at the waitress who opens her mouth to speak, slamming the plate down on the surface and staring hard at Harry. Harry stares back, straightens up like a cat waking from a nap, and saunters over with a smirk.

“Good to see you again,” he teases, and Draco tenses, crossing his hand over his chest defensively. How dare he act like this is alright? He just wants to have some good fucking eggs!

“Hm. I’m not looking to mess around,  _ Harry _ , so get the eggs done right. I’ll wait right here.”

Harry’s eyes widen slightly, also drawing himself up to full height which still sets him a couple inches shorter than Draco, and puts a hand on his hip.   
“Oh? Alright then. Coming right up.”

It feels as tense as the final of a cooking show as Harry goes to the kitchen, just visible from where Draco stands, and opens up the fridge. There’s the usual noises of a kitchen in action - clinking metal on metal, something being stirred, and then sizzling oil. Maybe too much oil?

Draco can’t tell, but it lasts a little while and he’s standing there in awkward silence with Ginny looking between him and the kitchens, both of them tapping their foot a little as they wait to see the next development in this feud. Some part of him thinks that this should be it over, the eggs will be perfect and Harry will be thoroughly put in his place. Another part thinks that the dripping sarcasm as the cook went to make more eggs is basically a death sentence.

The latter wins out. Strutting back in with a plate covered behind a peeling old laminated menu, he whips the menu away with panache and places down the plate on the counter, grinning at Draco the whole while. Draco looks at the plate, stares hard at it, narrows his eyes.

This is the last straw. He takes a napkin from the dispenser, picks up the deep fried egg and throws it straight at the cook’s face.

Comically, it bounces off the tangled hair over his forehead, and lands in his grasping hands. The cook looks at it in abject shock for less than a second before he vaults over the counter despite the opening right next to him that would have been far more efficient, and throws it straight back at a startled Draco.

There’s oil, thankfully no longer hot, on his  _ very expensive  _ shirt. The shirt he wore to work that morning. Draco thinks of the difficulty of getting these oil stains out of the smooth purple fabric, and snaps. He makes sure to throw the first punch.

Time is weird during a fistfight. It can go very fast, or sometimes, quite slow. Draco registers the noise of people hooting and hollering, laughter from the other tables and booths, and Ginny shouting at Harry though it’s hard to say if she’s encouraging him or reprimanding. The egg is crushed into the tile floor in a mushy mess and Draco notes that, within all the batter, the yolk actually was runny. He only notes it when he steps on it by accident and slips, one hand still fisted in the cook’s apron, the other pulled back for a punch, consequentially dragging them both down onto the floor.

It knocks the wind out of Draco, and seems to hurt Harry somewhat too as they connect with the tiles. Feeling the back of his head for blood, he finds only a bump, and shoves the cook off him with a snarl, standing and dusting himself off. The curly haired bastard takes a moment to get to his feet, and has the audacity to look truly pleased with himself. Draco supposes he looks a mess, and is indignant about it. He glowers down at the cook, hands still in fists.

“This is bloody  _ bullshit, _ ” he hisses, before rounding on his table, grabbing his bags and storming out.

\-------

“Care to tell me why I’ve been told by my girlfriend that you got into a fist fight on shift today?”

Hermione is sitting on the edge of her desk in the cramped office at the back of the Waffle House. It’s basically a cupboard. Her hair is up in a bun, her arms crossed over her chest, her face showing an emotion somewhere between amusement and disapproval. Harry slouches into the desk chair and looks up at her with a smile.

“What? You’re telling me Luna grassed me up?” he joked, lolling his head to the side before shrugging. “It’s nothing. Some guy comes in and he’s good to wind up - and he deserves it, for your information.”

Hermione groans, rubs her eyes and shakes her head.   
“Is he going to start registering complaints? I don’t want trouble with having you hired here, Harry. I can’t stay serious enough around you to do any formal disciplinaries.”

Harry seems to consider it, then shrugs again.   
“Don’t think so. He just wants his eggs done right.”   
“And you won’t do them right?” Hermione asks, voice dry. Harry grins.   
“Nope.”

\-----

As soon as Draco got home, he called Pansy, who of course put him on loudspeaker so Daphne could hear him as well.

“Just got into a fucking fist fight with the cook.”   
“The one at Waffle House?” Pansy asked, sounding somewhat shocked as Daphne began to cackle.   
“I looked him up, he’s quite fit,” Daphne informed Pansy, and Draco groaned.   
“That isn’t the point! He deep fried an egg!”   
“That sounds pretty good. Did you try it?”   
“No, I threw it at him.”

There’s a silence before Draco continues.   
“And then he threw it back at me.”   
  


The girls burst into peals of laughter, cackling at Draco’s strife. He groans and hangs up on them, since it seems they’ll be no help at all.

\---

Maybe for someone else that would have been enough. They might decide to contact the manager or post a complaint online. They might decide to never go back to that Waffle House location again, or even any Waffle Houses again. But not for Draco. He has a vendetta now, and a ruined shirt to avenge.

Going back a few days later goes about as well as expected. He orders eggs, hears the cook slamming something into the microwave as he whistles an overly energetic tune. Draco doesn’t even bother sitting down, leaning up against the counter with his knuckles still bruised and more than ready to go again. A plate is set down in front of him on the counter with a twinkle in the cook’s eye, and Draco looks at it, perplexed.

“Are you serious?” he yells, prodding the tamagoyaki with one long finger. Harry grins.   
“No, that’s my godfather.”

He comes around from the counter unprompted, and Draco flings himself at him and wrestles him to the ground. By the time they’re done, he’s heaving uneven breaths, pain flaring on the side of his face, eyes wild with anger. Harry looks self satisfied at the mess he made of Draco’s hair and shoves him down on the ground before getting up, dusting his apron off and putting his hands on his hips.    
  
“Had enough yet?  _ Hungry  _ for more?”   
  


Draco drags himself to his feet, shaking with rage.   
“I wouldn’t be fucking hungry if you’d just make my eggs right!”

-

It goes on like that. Draco goes at least once a week like it’s a ritual, and gets into fist fights with the same cook who serves him his eggs incorrectly every damn time. He takes Pansy with him once, who spends her time flirting with Ginny who seems far too amused by the whole debacle. Harry and Draco beat the shit out of each other after another inventive way of making eggs is presented.

He gets cloud eggs, tea-stained, baked on a sheet pan like some kind of quiche, devilled eggs, some kind of omelette souffle, literally inside the skin of an avocado, egg yolk mooncake brought into the store - the cook has literally started to make things at home to bring in to ruin Draco’s life.

On the day of the mooncake, Draco is still bruised from last week and at his wit’s end.

“Why won’t you just make runny eggs?!” he screeches, glad that there are no other customers at the moment. Harry looks ridiculously proud of himself, smiling broadly.   
“Why won’t you just eat the food I put in front of you? It’s made with love, you know, and way better than regular eggs.”   
“Because this, is, not, what, I, ordered,” Draco snaps, poking the mooncake as punctuation. Harry shrugs, picks it up, and takes a bite.   
  
“So what are you going to do about it? Punch me?”

Draco does. Right in the stomach, and the mooncake, half devoured, goes flying off the plate and onto a customer who just entered without being noticed. The guy stands there, looking shocked, as Ginny shouts  _ “Oh my god, Neville!” _

Neville looks startled, somewhat terrified, and incredibly nervous. He finally stammers out, as Harry gets Draco into a headlock and holds him at his hip, tight, huffing and puffing.   
“Can I  _ please  _ get a waffle?”

-

Work gets busy. Draco finds no time to go and visit his new favourite enemy because of the influx of papers falling into his in-tray at all times. He spends his time hunched over these papers, living and breathing the data he’s reading, the bruises on his face and body yellowing and then healing altogether, disappearing like a bad dream just as you wake up.

But it isn’t over. It’s never going to be over. Not until Draco gets his fucking eggs.

Flinging the last file onto the out-tray, he leans back in his chair and checks his watch. His shift ended an hour ago, and he’s finally done. The project will be launching soon, and that means the workflow will finally abate. At last, he has time. Time to beat the shit out of Harry James Potter.

Daphne informed him of the cook’s full name some time ago, gained by her Facebook stalking. Draco had tried to avoid looking at the profile, because he felt like showing curiosity would be admitting defeat in some way, but he makes it on there eventually. The cook seems like, as long as he isn’t on shift, to be a genuinely nice person. He volunteers at the local animal shelter with a behemoth of a man with the odd name of Hagrid (not that Draco can say much about odd names), he has a huge friend group, he’s into activism and attends marches all the damn time. Also, he’s infuriatingly good looking and when Draco ends up on the idiot’s twitter, he finds an abundance of thirst-traps. It just pisses him off more. He needs to punch this guy in the face, stat, or he may never sleep well again.

Straight after work, Draco goes to the Waffle House and flings the door open with maximum dramatics. Leaning on the counter in casual clothes is Harry, who looks bored as he watches the TV installed on the wall, playing some sports game. It seems he’s not on shift, Luna standing behind the till talking to a girl with long black hair wearing the cook’s apron, Ginny standing nearby on her phone. When the three of them spot their customer, they all freeze. Luna blinks at Draco slowly, before smiling in that dreamy way of hers.

“Hello. What can I get for you today?”

Draco doesn’t bother with the pleasantries. He storms forwards, jabs a finger into the centre of Harry’s chest, and glowers.

“Two fried eggs, runny. Now.”

Harry smirks, shucks off his jacket and whips his apron off the peg on the wall, nodding to the other cook who looks somewhat baffled at it all. He takes less than a minute to return.

Precariously balanced on the plate are two eggs, still in their shells. Draco watches as the plate is put down, before slowly picking one up and shaking it. Yep. Two raw eggs.

Screaming like a strangled banshee, he throws the raw egg straight at Harry’s face and drags him by his shirt over the counter, knocking the plate and the other raw egg onto the floor along with the napkin dispenser and Ginny’s bottle of water. It’s an immediate brawl, but Draco has rage just as raw as those eggs, and he finally gets the better of the cook and is holding him by the shirt collar over the ground.   
  
“Why can’t you just make my eggs the way I fucking LIKE them?!” he screams, and Harry looks up at him with a slow smile.   
“Why don’t you take me back to your place and show me how?”

Gobsmacked. Honestly, Draco is just… gobsmacked. He drops Harry onto the floor and steps back, heaving in ragged breaths, sweat dripping down his brow. His hands hurt. There’s raw egg on his shoe, which he wipes off on the leg of Harry’s jeans which is conveniently nearby.

“FIne. Fine, I will. Get the fuck up. We’re going. Now.”

As they’re leaving, Draco thinks he sees Ginny begrudgingly hand over a wad of cash to Luna. He doesn’t care. He’s going to teach this motherfucker how to make eggs.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> fyi finding weird ways to make eggs for this made me hungry.


End file.
